The Third Story Bedroom
by R9-regrin9
Summary: This is a short story - my shortest yet. Just wanted to see people's thoughts on it so please read and review. Thanks!


THE THIRD FLOOR BEDROOM  
  
Dreams, this house is full of them. Old, none are new, wishes of children long gone. Once the halls, the rooms - every corner of the house, rang with the sound of giggling kids; their footsteps pattering up and down stairs. Little kings and queens of the house - now, silence reigns.  
I stepped over a tipped chair and walked across the thick carpet of dust, it softened the sound of my intruding steps. Sunlight poured through tattered curtains, texturing the papered walls in coloured dapples of light. Reaching up, I ripped down the moth eaten coverings, allowing the warm sun to chase out the nightmares. Dust billowed up in clouds around me and the cloth fell from my willing hands.  
I moved to the large window and peered through the watery panes of old glass. It distorted the land outside - reminding me again of children's dreams. A smile began and grew across my face as I remembered. Granny always told me that she had never opened the windows, she had been afraid that her dreams and desires would escape. She had cautioned me never to open them and so I respected her wishes.  
Backing away, I left the room and returned to the hall. A grand staircase swept down from the upper floors and I wended my way upwards, my hand leading my by use of the handrail. Granny always spoke of her room; on the third floor, fourth door on the right. Her room had a view of the estates gardens and fields - she had loved that view.  
My steps slowed and I laboured my way down the third floor hall. I almost stopped - my body and mind not wanting to see what was behind those doors. I halted before the third door on the right. One more to go. My limbs started up again and I took the next step reluctantly. The door was white, a stark difference compared to the dim corridor. The handle, a brass knob, seemed to glow with an inner fire. Did brass really glow? Reaching out I rested my hand on the door knob, my forehead resting on the door for a moment.  
I was finally here, about to see what Granny had always spoken of, and yet.I paused. Closing my eyes tight, I turned the handle and pushed that white door open. It swung ajar on oiled hinges and thumped on the wall where it hit. I stood there, my eyes still closed, my ears open. I took one step and listened for the squeaking floorboard I knew was there. It did not disappoint me. Opening first one eye, then the other, I released my breath. It was just like she said. A white and blue rag mat was coiled on the floor. A bed was set against the right wall with a blue coverlet - it matched the walls, papered a sky blue with white birds flying across it.  
Feeling a need to breathe fresh air, I briskly walked across the room and opened the window. Lifting that pane I forgot my promise to Granny. I stuck my head out to take in the sweet air, but it quickly turned to a frightened gasp. There, below the sill, was a human skeleton; its bones polished to a gleaming white, the skull's empty sockets stared out with unseeing eyes at the field Gagging, I reeled away and sat down on the dust covered bed, dirtying my expensive suit.  
Head cradled by quavering hands, I thought back to the stories Granny had always told. She had never said anything about the bones. They couldn't be real. Staring blindly at the rug, an idea struck me. Granny, being a fanciful child, must have kept secrets in her room somewhere. Lowering myself down to my knees, pushed aside the rug and examined the floors with searching fingers for a loosened board. It was there; prying it open I lifted the wood and reached down past the cobwebs to the secrets between floors. A book. My fingers told me so before my eyes did. Flipping through the dated pages, I read in amazement, Granny's life.  
I spent the whole morning there, reading her childish scrawl, but it was the later entries that captured me.  
  
July 9th, 1872. I opened my window yesterday, it was so hot, I had hoped to cool my room off for the night to come. When I returned from supper, I was quite pleased to find my room a pleasant temperature, but I was shocked to see one of my birds was gone - missing!  
  
At this point I looked up to ponder. Granny had never mentioned having any birds.  
  
It was the bird that I'd written my hate words on. My wish that cook would die - that old bat! How dare she hit Letty! Cook went missing today.  
I looked to the papered walls again, searching for something out of place, and there it was. A blank spot on the wall, where a white bird would have been, but was not. How strange.  
  
July 12th 1872. Haven't opened my window since Thursday. Everyone thinks that cook just left, but I know where she really is. I found her, though I dare not tell anyone. Her bones are right outside my window.  
  
I shivered. This had to be a child's fantasy, or some person who had played a prank on Granny. I shook my head and read on, curious as to see what happened next, but there was nothing else. The following pages were blank. Sighing, I tucked the journal into my coat pocket and dusted myself off. Walking over to the blank spot on the wall, I ran my hand over it. So strange. At a closer inspection, I could see faint penciling on the other birds. I squinted and read them. Many of them were comments and dreams, others were accusations, but one was obviously written in anger. The writing bit deep and left dents in the wall.  
  
That Charlie! I hate him!  
  
I smiled slightly, funny how mother had named me that.  
  
I will never have kids! I could not ever stand having a child like that boy! I will never have kids, NEVER!!!  
  
I palmed the harsh words, they should be erased, but before I could think another thought, the paper moved beneath my hand. Startled, I pulled my hand back. I stared in awe as the white bird peeled itself away from the wall. Before I could comprehend what was happening, it flew out the window.and I was no more. 


End file.
